The Dollmaker s Daughter at Christmas

DAPHNE'S POV

The door slamming shut behind me caused me to flinch before I even saw who it was. Her too strong lavender perfume wafted through the bathroom, meeting me where I washed my hand in the sink. I froze, the water washing off the last of the soap as three figures appeared behind me in the mirror.

"Daphne," Eleanor said in a sing-song voice, chuckling while she twirled her blond hair between her fingers.

I turned, my hands shaking. I was avoiding something like this. The school day was over and I hid in the bathroom until everyone was gone. "I don't want any trouble," I managed to get out. My heart was ramming against my chest and I was sure that these wolves surrounding me could hear it. They could smell my fear.

One of her side kicks, Bridget, grabbed one of my arms. "Don't be so boring. We're only here to play, right, Carla?" she asked, smiling over my shoulder at the other girl.

They were far taller than me, prettier even. They had long, toned legs; the kind of legs that looked like they went for miles and miles. And they were skinny- painfully so that they spent every waking hour in school making me miserable about that fact. They were total bimbos; shiny blond hair, beautiful red lips and gorgeous eyes.

I was nothing like them. Where they had long legs, I had thicker ones. I had black curly hair while theirs was mostly pin straight. I was plus size and my uniform was bigger than most of the other girls. And in Bateview Academy, your looks determined your standing among the wolves. Me? I was a nobody.

Carla slipped her hands under my arm and held on to me. "Yeah, just a little fun."

I knew what was coming. My heart was racing in my chest, almost uncontrollably. "Let me go," I said, looking at Eleanor. She was the only one who could stop them.

"Oh? Did you guys hear something?" Eleanor asked, looking everywhere but me. "I almost thought I heard a little fat girl begging."

There it was again, that word: fat. Like it was a crime to be plus sized, to be different. They made me hate my own skin.

"Must be the wind," Bridget replied. She and Carla began to pull me towards one of the stalls.

I struggled to free myself but their manicured fingers only dug deeper to hold me tight. Somehow, all three of us squeezed into a stall. I was pushed to my knees, the toilet basin rising up in front of me.

I tried to beg but the words were stuck in my mouth. Somehow, I didn't want to plead, it would mean admitting defeat. They could try to break down my body but certainly not my resilience.

I noticed that Eleanor was recording with her phone. "Look, everyone, I have our little school friend – Daphne Browne – with us. She wants to play a game."

I didn't even notice the bag she had been holding. She dropped it to the floor, fishing out a carton of milk. "Today's episode, we're going to be making a farewell cake. Here's the milk!" she let out an excited squeal as she poured the bottle of milk on me.

I felt detached, my body still here but my mind someplace else. I had learnt the hard way that when dealing with people like this, it was better not to fight.

But, goddess, it broke me. To be embarrassed like this in front of a live audience.

"Next up?" Eleanor asked and the girls chorused, "Eggs!"

I wished that I could fight. I wished that I wasn't this powerless. That I wasn't a nobody omega.

"And a special addition to the recipe," she did a little happy dance before pouring the bottle of fish oil over me. It stunk, stunk so badly that I retched.

"The omega stinks," Bridget pouted, pegging her nose with her fingers.